


Manners and Malefactors

by wheel_pen



Series: Viridian Mal [3]
Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Alternate Universe, Fish out of Water, Gen, Imprinting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-14
Updated: 2013-04-14
Packaged: 2017-12-08 11:28:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/760830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wheel_pen/pseuds/wheel_pen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jon, Trip, T’Pol, and Mal have dinner in the Captain’s Mess, so Mal can learn some table manners. T’Pol is skeptical about the value of this activity, and the teachers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Manners and Malefactors

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. Viridians appear human, but are actually aliens who imprint on other people (Viridian or otherwise) and form a bond with them. They also live their entire life cycle in about six Earth years.
> 
> 2\. In each series, a different character is a Viridian, who was raised by mean Klingons on an outpost. An Enterprise crewmember is captured by the Klingons and they inadvertently form a bond with the Viridian, who helps them escape. Then they return to rescue the Viridian and bring them aboard the Enterprise. The Viridian homeworld is contacted and the Enterprise crew learn the Viridian will most likely die if they are sent away. So they end up staying on the Enterprise, and the crewmember has to adjust.
> 
> 3\. The bad words are censored. That’s just how I do things.
> 
> I hope you enjoy this AU. I own nothing and appreciate the chance to play in this universe.

T'Pol's raised eyebrow told Archer everything he needed to know about her opinion of his proposal. "Come on, if he's going to be staying on the ship, he needs to learn how to interact with humans in everyday settings," Archer reasoned, the tiniest hint of desperation creeping into his voice.

"I agree," T'Pol replied coolly. "But are you certain it's Commander Tucker's table manners you wish Mal to emulate?"

Archer swallowed a smirk. "Well, that's exactly why _you_ should be there!" he insisted. "I mean, me and Trip trying to teach him anything about manners..."

T'Pol narrowed her eyes slightly. "Vulcan table manners are... dissimilar from those of humans," she reminded the Captain.

"You'll keep us honest," Archer tried. Not to mention on track. No matter what high levels of responsibility he and Trip had earned in their lives, he wouldn't trust the pair of them to train a _dog_ —one reason Porthos knew precisely _zero_ tricks. Trip didn't have the patience for it, and Jon would give him the cheese just for showing up and looking cute.

"Very well," T'Pol agreed, heavily. "I will participate. In _one_ meal."

"Great, thanks, T'Pol," Archer told her heartily. "That's all we ask."

 

"So this is the Captain's Mess," Trip announced, drawing Mal into the room. "That's 'mess' as in 'Mess Hall,'" he added quickly, remembering the earlier confusion. "It's the Captain's private dining room."

"Ooh, it's fancy, isn't it?" Mal complimented. "Look at all the chairs."

"Er, yeah," Trip agreed. He walked to the head of the table. "So this is where the Captain usually sits," he informed Mal. "I'll be sitting on his right, and T'Pol will be on his left. And you"—he moved to the second chair on the right—"can sit right here, next to me." He patted the chair with a reassuring smile.

Mal bit his lower lip nervously. "At the table?"

Trip was prepared for this. "Yes, Mal," he answered firmly. "At the table. Humans, and many other species, sit at the table for most of their meals."

Mal circled the table. "Oh, but there's so much room here," he wheedled, "and everything is so clean. Couldn't I sit on the floor right here? Next to you?"

"No, Mal." Trip felt this was a key point. "I know the Klingons weren't real keen on you being on the furniture"—Mal shook his head quickly—"but if you're going to live on _Enterprise_ you need to learn to do things the way humans do."

Mal sighed and changed the subject. "Why is there a sheet on the table?" he asked.

"Oh, that's called a _tablecloth_ ," Trip explained eagerly. "They're used in more formal dining. It's a way to dress the table up. And keep it clean, I guess. Like a napkin for the table," he added, thinking of a previous lesson. "Oh, except _you_ don't use it as a napkin," he went on, thinking of his childhood. "It's basically just for decoration. Don't wipe your hands on it or anything."

Mal nodded obediently and continued to examine the table carefully. "What are these?" He pointed to a piece of crockery in the middle of the table containing a bouquet of stick-like items.

"These are bread sticks," Trip told him, picking one up. "They're... um... sticks of bread," he added lamely. "They're edible, I mean. Like something you can nibble on before the main course comes out." He handed his to Mal and took another.

"It seems very hard," Mal observed, sniffing it. He put one end in his mouth and sucked on it, not making a dent in the crispy toasted stick.

"You break it off, like this," Trip demonstrated, snapping the bread stick partially in his mouth. It broke at the wrong spot, leaving him with half the stick poking out of his mouth and crumbs all over his uniform.

Archer and T'Pol chose that moment to enter. "I see the lesson in table manners has already begun," the Vulcan noted dryly. Trip's glare was lessened by the partially-eaten bread stick bulging out his cheek.

"Well, isn't this nice," the Captain declared quickly, rubbing his hands together. "Mal, thank you for joining us for dinner tonight."

"Um..."

Having removed the uneaten bread stick—though not discreetly enough for T'Pol—Trip leaned over and whispered to Mal, "Tell him thanks for having you for dinner tonight."

Mal's head whipped around to face Trip, eyes wide. " _What?!_ Having _me_ for dinner!?"

"No, no, no," Archer and Trip hastened to assure him. "It's like, um, it's, you know—"

" _Inviting_ you for dinner," T'Pol corrected smoothly. "It is customary among humans to exchange thanks for both the dinner invitation and the acceptance of said invitation."

"D—n, you were right, she _is_ good at this," Trip remarked in awe. T'Pol's look suggested he was easily impressed.

"Maybe we should just sit down," Archer suggested. He took the chair at the head of the table, with Trip on the right and T'Pol on the left. Mal looked at the chair beside Trip as though it were some sort of extreme torture device.

"Come on, Mal," Trip encouraged, patting the back of the chair. "It's okay." Steeling himself, Mal pulled the chair awkwardly from the table. And kept pulling it back until the front edge of the seat was several centimeters behind the back of Trip's chair. Then he sat down slowly and painfully on the cushioned seat. And found himself in a dilemma.

"How do I get back to the table?" he inquired, as he was currently sitting more than half a meter away.

"I _told_ you we should've used the chairs with wheels," Trip reminded Archer, who shrugged helplessly. "You... _scoot_ it forward, Mal. Give it a try." Mal scooted forward on the seat, nearly sliding off the edge. "No, you have to—you have to hold onto the chair, kind of pick it up a little," Trip suggested. Making an earnest attempt, Mal spread his legs to either side of the seat and grabbed the front edge of the chair to pull it forward. The chair promptly tipped over on its back between his feet. Archer cupped his hands over his mouth to hide his grin.

"It doesn't seem very well-balanced," Mal remarked worriedly. "Are you certain this is safe to sit in?"

"Okay, pick the chair back up," Trip sighed. Mal did so. "Now, keep your legs together." Mal did so. "Now you hold on to the sides of the seat, and you kind of stand up and carry it with you." Mal gripped the sides of the seat and stood up. The edge of the seat hit the back of his knees, forcing the back of the chair forward to whack him hard in the middle of his spine.

"Ow!" Mal exclaimed, stumbling forward. He dropped the chair immediately and turned to glare at it. "I think it doesn't _want_ to sit at the table," he tried, blinking at Trip.

The engineer was not to be dissuaded, however. "You gotta bend over more when you pick up the chair," he insisted to Mal. "You can't stand straight up. Try it again." Taking a deep breath, Mal grabbed the sides of the seat, stood up, and bent over ninety degrees, the back of the chair resting flat over his own back. Awkwardly he waddled forward, his nose just barely clearing the tabletop. The back of the chair clanged into the water glass at his place and Trip grabbed it just in time. "J---s, Mal!" Judging himself in the right spot, Mal straightened back up, dropping the chair to the floor behind him and sitting down on it. His pleased expression faded when he saw he was still several centimeters shy of the goal—his knees weren't even under the table yet. Archer's hand was pressed tightly over his mouth and his face was turning slightly red.

Frustrated Trip pushed himself out and stood behind Mal. "Right, we'll pretend you're a lady and I'm helpin' you with your chair," he decided.

"You didn't help T'Pol with her chair," Mal protested, clearly dejected.

"That's 'cause T'Pol d—n well _knows_ how to sit in a chair!" Trip snapped. "Stand up!" Mal did so. "Bend your knees," he ordered brusquely. Mal's head lowered by about ten centimeters. Trip shoved the chair at him, knocking him off his feet into the seat, then kept pushing until Mal was more or less in the proper position. Then he threw himself back into his own chair.

"I'd hate to see what you do when you take a lady's coat," Archer remarked, barely trusting himself to speak. Trip sighed and rolled his eyes. Mal nibbled his lower lip and stared at his empty plate.

Silence reigned for a few moments. Finally Trip couldn't stand it any longer. "So what are we waitin' for now?" he asked testily.

"I believe someone must signal the steward that we are ready to be served," T'Pol put forward. The four of them glanced at the comm box—which was on the far wall by the door.

"J---s H. C----t!" swore Trip, burying his face in his hands.

"I'll get it, I'll get it," Archer assured him, chuckling just a little. He stood and quickly alerted the kitchen staff, then sat back down.

Promptly the steward came in from the door to the kitchen, bearing a tray containing pitchers of drinks which he set on the counter behind the Captain. "Good evening, Captain, officers, Mal," he greeted smoothly.

"Hello," Mal replied politely. Trip shushed him, annoyed.

"Captain, may I offer you some iced tea to drink this evening?" the steward continued solicitously.

"Yes, thank you," Archer decided, handing the man his empty glass. The steward filled it neatly and returned it to the table in the proper place. "Commander?" he asked, turning to T'Pol.

"Water," she requested.

Trip was next. "Iced tea, thanks."

Finally the steward sent an inquiring glance towards Mal. Mal blinked, frowned, thought it over for a while, and finally turned to Trip, unable to make a decision. "Why don't you stick with water," Trip suggested. A frosty glass was placed in front of Mal.

"Is there anything else I can get for you at the moment?" the steward asked, glancing around the table.

"Don't we get food?" Mal whispered to Trip.

"Dinner will be served shortly," the steward answered, before Trip could.

"Thanks, Ensign," Archer told him with a tight smile. He was hoping this didn't turn into yet another dinner party the kitchen staff could gossip about for weeks. The steward nodded politely and stepped back out. "Well, Mal," the Captain said into the silence that followed, "I think you're doing very well so far." Mal looked up hopefully and Trip gave Archer an objecting look. "Don't you think so, Commander?" he prompted, turning to T'Pol.

The Vulcan thought quickly while Archer stared at her expectantly. "Yes, I believe you have adapted remarkably well," she hedged, "considering your formative experiences."

"Trip," Archer prodded.

The engineer sighed. "Yeah, you could be a lot worse, considerin' you were raised by Klingons and all," he agreed. Mal chose to take this as a compliment and beamed at him.

Once general good cheer had been restored by the compliments, Trip decided to ask Mal about the squirming he'd exhibited ever since he'd finally been seated. "Uh, what are you doin', by the way?"

"I'm just trying to get—there, that's better," Mal decided. He was now perched on his knees on the seat of the chair, his feet dangling over the sides.

"No, Mal," Trip corrected, back to trying to temper his comments. "You gotta sit on the seat the way you were before. You gotta sit flat on your—" He paused, hand on the appropriate part of his own anatomy, and looked at the Captain. "D—n. What's a polite way to say 'a-s'?"

"Um... butt?" Archer offered helpfully. T'Pol's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.

Trip shook his head. "Nah, my granny said that word was vulgar." He thought a moment, then snapped his fingers. "Bottom."

"Behind," suggested Archer playfully.

"Backside."

"Fanny!"

"Bum!"

"Rump!"

"Tail end!"

"Tush!"

"Tuchis!"

"Commander Tucker."

Trip looked up at T'Pol's icy-calm expression suddenly, his grin fading. "Hang on. Was that supposed to be a joke?" he asked, slightly insulted.

It took a moment for T'Pol to understand his serpentine thought process. "Any coincidence between yourself and an a-s," she replied coolly, "is entirely of your own making." Archer smothered a grin while Trip tried to figure out if she had insulted him again. "I was merely attempting to point out to you that the guest of honor at this dinner seems to have lost the thread of conversation. Such as it is."

"I'm confused," Mal agreed. He was still kneeling in the chair.

"You gotta sit flat in the chair on your... behind," Trip repeated to him.

"But I sit _this_ way in the Mess Hall," Mal pointed out, a whine in his tone.

"The Mess Hall is not _formal_ dining," Trip countered testily. "But this _is_ formal dining, and you gotta sit down properly!"

"I don't like sitting that way, it's not comfortable," the other man protested.

"D----t, Mal, this is about good manners, not bein' comfortable," Trip shot back with exasperation. "If I wanted to be _comfortable_ I'd be slouchin' on a sofa in my skivvies with a bottle of beer and the football game on."

"And thank you for that image," Archer told his friend with a grin. T'Pol appeared equally disturbed.

"That sounds nice," Mal countered. "Let's do that instead."

"No!" Trip contradicted. "We are havin' a nice dinner here, and that's how it's gonna be."

"Well we're not having dinner at _all_ , are we?" Mal protested unhappily. "All we've got are water and sticks of bread!"

"Maybe they are waitin' for _you_ to put your a-s in that chair like a _grown-up_ before they bring out the food!" Trip suggested meanly. Mal's shoulders slumped.

"Trip," Archer murmured warningly.

The engineer took a deep breath, drawing upon his reserves of patience. "Little kids," he finally said in a tight, overly controlled voice, "kneel on chairs. 'Cause they're too short to reach the table otherwise, and they don't know any better. Don't you wanna be a grown-up and sit like the grown-ups do?"

"Well being a grown-up seems fairly _stupid_ so far," Mal retorted snottily.

"SIT DOWN!" Trip ordered, gripping his fork menacingly. Mal did so.

The steward fortunately appeared with the main meal at that moment, serving the diners in order of rank with the Captain first. Archer was glad he had suggested they go with something simple tonight, just grilled chicken with green beans (and of course a vegetarian dish for T'Pol)—at this point he couldn't imagine what would happen if someone had put a plate of, say, spaghetti down in front of Mal.

Trip had covered the proper use of cutlery and napkins already, so he only had to make a few adjustments to the way Mal held his knife and fork before they got underway. Mal concentrated fully on trying to cut his chicken into small pieces, his knife occasionally scraping across the plate with a grating screech when he pushed too hard or at the wrong angle. After the third time Trip couldn't take it anymore and dropped his own silverware with a clatter.

"Mal!"

"I'm sorry," the other man replied miserably. He redoubled his efforts, gave a final jab with the knife, and ended up sending the uncut half of his chicken breast flying across the table. It didn't _quite_ land in the middle of T'Pol's salad—it just hit the rim and bounced off. Onto her lap.

A horrified pause filled the dining room. Choking back her disgust as best she could T'Pol lifted the chicken from her lap with the napkin that had caught it and set them both carefully on the table. Trip and Jon were both tight-lipped, red-faced, and shaking slightly from contained laughter; daring a glance at each other nearly undid them. T'Pol cleared her throat and remarked, "I believe I shall need a new plate, Captain." Not trusting himself to speak Archer gestured for her to go ahead and summon the steward.

"I'm sorry," Mal repeated in a small voice. The humor immediately vanished.

"It was an accident," Trip assured him, patting his back. "Don't worry about it."

"Happens all the time," Archer agreed.

"Especially when Commander Tucker is dining here," T'Pol added coolly. Trip gave her a look.

"Is there something I can get for you?" the steward asked politely, entering the room.

T'Pol tipped the chicken breast onto her partially-eaten salad. "I require a new serving of the meal," she explained to him. "A smaller portion will suffice. And a clean napkin."

"Right away, ma'am," the steward assured her, taking the tainted objects out of sight.

"Mal, you want another chicken breast?" Trip offered, before the steward could leave. The other man shook his head, staring at his plate. Trip nodded, dismissing the steward.

Another awkward silence ensued. Archer and Trip weren't sure if it was considered polite to eat while T'Pol didn't have any food, and Mal didn't seem to be eating at all. "Um, how is your meal, Mal?" Archer tried.

He shrugged, hands in his lap, eyes down. "Haven't you even tried it yet?" Trip prompted, his tone slightly more gentle than before. "Come on, you like chicken."

"I'm not hungry," Mal mumbled sorrowfully.

"It's real good," Trip tempted him. "And you haven't eaten anything since that fruit this afternoon." Mal shook his head and Trip sighed, looking to Archer for assistance. Unfortunately the Captain had none to give on this point.

The steward returned with a fresh salad for T'Pol—and a clean napkin. "I believe among humans it is customary to engage in conversation during dinner," she remarked, seeing those around her pick helplessly at their plates. "Topics considered light and pleasant are usually chosen."

"That's absolutely true, T'Pol," Archer agreed, seizing on the idea gratefully. "For example, we might ask each other questions about—about our day. Trip," he began, addressing the engineer with an attentive gaze, "how was your day?"

Trip opened his mouth for a moment. "Fine," he finally answered, with false good cheer. "How was yours, Captain?"

"Fine," Archer seconded pleasantly. They both swiveled to T'Pol. "T'Pol, how was _your_ day?"

"The events of the day in which I was involved fell within normal parameters," she assured them.

Archer and Trip blinked at her a little bit. "Good," Archer acknowledged after a moment.

"Great," Trip agreed.

Trip turned to check in with Mal, finding his meal still untouched on the plate. And he was squirming in the chair again. Trip sighed. Sensing his disapproval Mal complained, "My back hurts, and my feet are all tingly, and I think my backside fanny a-s is going numb."

"Trip, would you just let him sit on the floor?" Archer suggested at last. Hope began to spring into Mal's eyes.

"Sir," Trip protested, and there was definitely a bit of a whine to it. "Look, we talked about this! This is a big thing. I mean, who cares if he doesn't know his salad fork from his dessert fork—but he just can't go around sittin' on the floor at meals!"

"Trip, look at him," Archer sighed. "He's miserable. Why don't we just let him sit on the floor for now and get through the meal, and you can work on the chair thing later." Trip appeared reluctant to agree.

"I must concur with the Captain," T'Pol put in, and Archer gave her a surprised look. "If Mal is unable to process new information due to his discomfort, continuation of the lesson is illogical."

"Okay, fine," Trip conceded, exhaling heavily. Mal vaulted himself out of his chair joyously and threw his arms around Trip, nearly knocking the engineer out of his own chair.

"Thank you, Trip!" he said ecstatically, as if it had been entirely Trip's doing.

"Yeah, well..." Trip mumbled, patting Mal's arm awkwardly. "Don't forget, this is only temporary." Mal didn't let that idea dissuade him. He just picked up his plate, fork, and water glass with a happy little grin and started to settle down on the floor beside Trip. "Well, at least come over to _this_ side," Trip suggested, indicating the space between himself and Archer. "Be a _little_ bit more part of the group." Mal did so, curling his legs up and balancing his plate easily on his lap.

"Okay, now where were we?" Archer asked, after Mal had relocated to the floor and started to eat his meal.

"We were engaging in light, pleasant dinner conversation," T'Pol reminded him.

"Right," Archer agreed. There was a pause. "We already covered everyone's day, didn't we?"

"Yes," Trip replied shortly.

"Um... How is your meal?" Archer asked T'Pol with a plastered-on smile.

"It appears to be sufficiently nutritious, with an aesthetically-pleasing flavor," she told him.

"Trip?" Archer prompted. "How is your meal?"

"It's... fine," Trip answered. "Uh, how is _your_ meal?"

"Fine, just... fine," Archer responded stiltedly.

"Bit dull, isn't it?" Mal remarked from the floor. "This 'dinner conversation.'"

"Well it's hard to do on command, you know," Trip pointed out to him snippily.

"Can I try a topic, please?" Mal requested.

"Knock yourself out," Trip allowed. He now regretted having explained to Mal that that phrase was only a figure of speech.

Mal cleared his throat and asked in a pleasant tone, "So, which of you maggots killed our dinner tonight?"

Archer choked on a sip of iced tea and received a few hearty thumps on the back from Trip. "It would appear Klingon dinner conversation differs somewhat from that of humans," T'Pol observed.

"Actually there are a number of parallels," Mal remarked tartly, "such as shoving each other and shouting obscenities."

"I'm _so_ glad he's on the floor and happier now," Trip said sarcastically to Archer, "so he feels like criticizing us again." The Captain shrugged, unrepentant, still mopping up splashes of tea from the tablecloth.

Archer coughed once more then picked up the ball again. "Mal, did you know that Vulcans, such as Commander T'Pol, do not eat meat?"

"Really," Mal replied with interest. "Why not?"

Archer and Trip turned in anticipation to T'Pol, clearly expecting that she could sum up thousands of years of Vulcan philosophy and tradition in a couple of sentences. "On Vulcan," she tried to explain, "we believe that the many forms of nature are to be treated with respect. We consider it illogical and... repugnant to cultivate conscious living beings for our nutrition, when plant matter will suffice."

"Hmmm," Mal remarked thoughtfully. "But if we're not supposed to eat animals," he continued earnestly, "why do they taste so good?"

"D—n good point," Trip agreed, popping a piece of chicken in his mouth.

Archer glared at his Chief Engineer and rerouted the conversation before it could leave the realm of light and pleasant. With Mal far more relaxed on the floor, conversation flowed a bit easier and in a few minutes the three officers were discussing the events of the day as they had many times before. Occasionally one of them would remember to draw Mal in as well, but for the most part he seemed more than content to eat his meal unnoticed.

"—so Ramirez is trying to tell me it's an EPS modulator glitch, and Abijou's trying to say it's a problem with the plasma injectors, so I—" A wail from the floor cut Trip off, startling them all.

Trip spun in his seat to see Mal staring up at him with wide, terrified eyes, his face contorting painfully. "G-d, Mal! What's in your mouth? Spit it out!"

Mal shoved something out of his mouth with his tongue and it plopped wetly onto the palm Trip held beneath his chin. At first Trip didn't recognize it, then he turned it over and saw that it was...

A lemon peel.

From the lemon wedge that had garnished the chicken.

"Did you—did you eat the rest?" he asked Mal tightly, concern and laughter warring within him.

Mal nodded wretchedly, eyes overflowing. "Am I going to die?" he sobbed. Laughter ebbed away—but it didn't go easily.

"Here, drink this," Archer commanded, handing him Trip's glass of iced tea. "It'll take the taste away."

"No, you aren't gonna die," Trip assured him while Mal gulped the glass frantically. "It's just sour-tasting is all... J---s, Mal, what'd you eat it for, anyway?"

"It was on the plate!" Mal bawled. His nose was running and he had iced tea all over his face as well. "I thought it was from an orange."

"Mal, oranges are... orange," Trip reminded him sharply. "This is a lemon, it's yellow, it's a totally different color!"

"Trip, come on," Archer chided. "That's a pretty fine distinction. Lemons and oranges _are_ pretty similar."

T'Pol threw her support behind the Captain. "Yes, I believe they are both tropical fruits of the genus _Citrus_ —"

"Well what was it even _doing_ on the plate, huh?" Trip shot back angrily, ignoring T'Pol. "Like he even knows what a 'garnish' is. He probably ate that little parsley sprig, too!"

"I wasn't supposed to eat that?" Mal sniffled.

"I thought you were gonna make the meal _simple_ ," Trip finished accusatorily, addressing the Captain.

"Well you could have _told_ him not to eat them!" Archer snapped in return.

"Why do _I_ have to think of everything!" Trip shouted.

"I don't know, maybe because HE'S _YOUR_ RESPONSIBILITY!"

Mal threw himself at Trip with a sob, burying his tear-stained, snotty, iced tea-covered face against Trip's stomach. "I don't want to have good manners anymore!" he wailed.

"Don't worry, I think you got your wish on that," Trip replied with a sigh. T'Pol raised an eyebrow in agreement as Archer slumped in his chair, defeated.

"I don't want to sit in chairs and suck on sticks of bread and eat lemons and think of dull things to say!" Mal continued, his arms wrapped tight around Trip's waist. "I just want to go back to our cabin and eat cheese and crackers and fruit and be warm and cozy and not eat things that try to kill me!" He ended his tirade with a wail of despair.

Trip gave Archer a look that said _Do something!_ Archer responded with a look that said _No, YOU do something!_ Awkwardly Trip began to pat Mal's head, the back of his neck, his shoulder. It seemed to comfort him immensely. "Come on there, uh, buddy," he tried. "Just calm down a little, okay?" Mal became a little quieter and Trip felt encouraged to continue. "I know this dinner has been a little rough"—that was putting it mildly, according to the expression on Archer's face—"but it's only your first time, after all. You'll get better in the future. And," he admitted heavily, making eye contact with Jon, "I guess I should've told you about the lemon." He looked down at Mal. "So how about it? You gonna sit back down now?"

"I don't know," Mal sniffed wetly, and Trip didn't even want to think about what his uniform looked like now. "Couldn't we just go home now, please?"

"Uh, well, the meal's not really finished yet, Mal," Trip pointed out. He tried frantically to think of what his mother might do in this situation, which he was certain must have arisen at some point in his childhood. He drew a blank. But he had a pretty good idea of what his _father_ would have done. "Say, would an extra helping of dessert make you feel better?"

Mal looked up, his interest piqued. "Maybe," he allowed. "What is it?"

Trip gave Jon a questioning glance. "Apple pie," the Captain supplied.

"What's apple?" Mal inquired suspiciously.

"It's, uh, it's a fruit," Trip explained. "I think you'll like it."

"Oh, okay then," Mal agreed. He promptly released Trip and sat back on the floor. "My face is all dirty, though," he remarked distastefully, rubbing his sleeve over himself and examining the residue closely.

"I woulda thought you got most of it off on _me_ ," Trip replied with a smirk. "But that's easy to fix, just stick your napkin in your glass of water and use it to clean up."

"Commander," T'Pol said, bringing herself to speak for the first time in several minutes, "I believe it would be considered more appropriate for Mal to excuse himself and go to the lavatory to clean up."

Archer was about to second that opinion, but Trip frowned at them. "Now hang on a minute," he insisted, "my mama used to do this all the time in restaurants, even fancy ones, when us kids got all sticky." T'Pol raised an eyebrow and opened her mouth to comment. "You just think a second longer before you speak, T'Pol," Trip warned her. "'Cause I gotta tell ya, if you're about to say something bad about my mama, those are fightin' words to a Southern boy." Prudently T'Pol remained silent.

A few minutes later the steward returned, not blinking an eye at Mal sitting on the floor painstakingly cleansing his face with water from his drinking glass. "May I remove your plates?" he asked politely and began collecting the remains of the meal.

Trip leaned down and gingerly picked up his glass of iced tea that Mal had drained and blubbered on. "Could I get some more iced tea? Um, clean glass, please."

"Of course, sir. And did you enjoy your meals?"

Murmurs of "fine, great" met the steward. Except for, "My animal flesh tasted really good, at least the half I got to eat, and the green pointy things were pretty good, too. But I didn't like the nasty sour horrible lemon thing at all." Trip just sighed, having given up for the evening.

"I'm sorry to hear that, sir," the steward remarked, taking the plate Mal held up to him. Archer decided the man was due for a commendation.

"It's okay," Mal assured him. "Because now I get to have _two_ helpings of apple pie. Will we be having that soon, please?"

"Absolutely, sir, in just a moment," the steward replied, exiting with the dirty dishes.

"Did I get it all off?" Mal inquired, kneeling up by Trip's chair.

The engineer looked him over with mock seriousness. "Yeah, I guess you're alright," he decided soberly.

"What shall we do after dinner?" Mal continued eagerly. "Shall we have a snack?"

Trip rolled his eyes. "At least wait until dinner's _over_ before saying you're hungry again," he suggested, not unkindly. "What would you like to do?"

"Shall we sit on the bed together and watch a movie?" Mal suggested. "Or shall we sit on the bed together and read a book?"

"How about we sit on the bed together, and do paperwork," Trip threw out.

Mal grinned. "Okay."

The steward returned with a fresh glass for Trip and a tray of apple pie slices for everyone. T'Pol, not unexpectedly, declined hers. Vulcans were not known for having a sweet tooth. "Would you like both of your pieces now, sir?" the steward asked Mal.

"Yes, please," he answered readily. "Thank you."

"Would anyone care for anything else?" the steward inquired. "Coffee, perhaps?"

"Think I've had enough excitement for one evening," Trip replied, shaking his head.

"Just out of curiosity, Mal," Archer began as they consumed their desserts, "where did you learn to say 'please' and 'thank you'? It's difficult to imagine the Klingons we've met doing that."

Mal was alternating between his two slices of pie, breaking off a chunk from first one, then the other. "Oh, I hear Trip say it," he explained off-handedly.

Even Trip seemed surprised by that one. "Really?" the engineer asked, talking with his mouth only _slightly_ full. He gave T'Pol a pointed look. "You mean you actually picked up a _good_ habit from me?"

"Oh yes," Mal assured him. "I remember _everything_ you say and do."

Trip and Archer exchanged looks. "That should be funny later, shouldn't it?" the Captain predicted dryly.

A few minutes later the dessert had been finished and, curiously, none of the diners seemed willing to linger around the table like they sometimes did. Trip, at least, felt like he'd been through a four-hour diplomatic banquet, complete with the interminable speeches and untranslatable jokes. "Thanks for dinner, Captain," he told Archer as they stood from the table.

"Thank you for having me for dinner, Captain Archer," Mal seconded, scrambling to stand beside Trip. "And thank you for _not_ having me for dinner."

"Um, you're welcome, Mal," Archer replied, only mildly confused.

"Oh, and thanks for helping out, T'Pol," Trip added. "Guess it probably wasn't exactly what you had in mind, huh?"

The First Officer gave him a narrow look. "On the contrary, Commander, I have learned to have very little in mind when attending human functions," she replied ambiguously. "If you will excuse me, Captain, Mal, I believe I will start my meditation early tonight."

"Good night, T'Pol," Archer told her.

"Good night!" Mal called.

As soon as she left, Trip sagged back against the table with a heavy sigh. Then he caught Jon's eye and they both started giggling, just a little. "G-d, she must be wonderin' what she did in a past life to deserve _us_ ," Trip commented.

"I thought everyone performed admirably, given the circumstances," Archer offered generously.

"Yeah, well... Hey, sorry I lost my temper, by the way," Trip apologized.

"Which time?"

"Ha. The Lemon Wedge Debacle."

Archer waved him off. "Forget about it."

Trip smiled at him gratefully, then turned to Mal. "Well, you ready to go home and read reports, Mal?"

"Yes, please." They headed for the door.

"And hey, next time?" Archer called from the doorway. Trip and Mal turned back to look at him. "Chopsticks!" Trip's eyes widened in fear as the Captain smirked.


End file.
